


A Red Jeweled Brooch

by nimondor



Series: Bloodborne One-Shots [1]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7132292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimondor/pseuds/nimondor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beasts were just beasts, violent creatures that needed to be struck down. Many of the beasts in Central Yharnam looked the same to him—grimy, hairy, noisy. A few had a paler complexion than most and even screamed differently but their blood was just the same shade of red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Red Jeweled Brooch

The plague swept across Yharnam at dusk with such force, much of the populace that had been outside were immediately affected by the sickness. The people descended into madness, attacking and mercilessly killing anyone they saw were not afflicted by it. A Hunter knew their duty: the beasts would not stop unless they were disposed of, lest they allowed the land to fall into a deep and disparaging tomb.

A graveyard served as a resting site and pathway to a cathedral and he guarded it as its gatekeeper, cutting down the beasts that would consistently struggle to go through the thick iron doors. Father Gascoigne liked to think of himself as an honest man, true to his word and always upheld his promises. For the life of him, he couldn't remember why, exactly, he was guarding this gate—he should move forward and continue his Hunt.

His axe was met with many beasts since he was separated from his partner, but he remembered the Hunt. He remembered his duty. As the heavy weapon he wielded tore beasts apart limb by limb, he knew slowly the very fabrics of his mind were slowly slipping through delicate fingers. He couldn't figure out whose hand they belonged to, but he knew there was a song that would play and he would remember. That song would play, he would remember his dear wife and daughters.

Days passed and the song didn't play, the hand faded from his mind and he began smiling as he cut down more of the beasts, blood-stained garb hanging stiffly from his tired, aching body. Blood began to smell like rose petals on a warm spring afternoon and the axe was as light as a feather, it became a part of him and his Hunt. They never stood still or free of blood for more than a mere few moments.

Beasts were just beasts, violent creatures that needed to be struck down. Many of the beasts in Central Yharnam looked the same to him—grimy, hairy, noisy. A few had a paler complexion than most and even screamed differently but their blood was just the same shade of red.

He didn't feel satisfied, though. He knew there were more beasts out there in Yharnam, and he knew that he had to Hunt. The night had barely begun, the beasts would begin to show themselves and come out of hiding to greet the night with an unnatural joy. Perhaps he was becoming one of them, a giddy feeling would wash over him each time he cut one down.

He was standing at the top of the stairs after cutting down a beast and watched its body fall to the ground below, and he gritted his teeth together, grinding them hard enough to make his jaw begin to ache. The need to see more blood, to feel its warmth overthrew all his thoughts even as a smaller beast came wandering slowly into the tomb and even dared to go up the stairs. This one was female and didn't have the same frightened look the others had when standing in front of his intimidating presence.

She was saying something to him, but he couldn't comprehend her words as he eyed her up and down. Her dress was plain and unlike the other beasts, her hair was a pale shade of blond but what caught his eye was a little red jewel that was pinned to the top part of her dress. It reminded him of the beauty of the blood that he had spilled so many times. This beast was odd, she wasn't moving to attack him, though he knew that it was all just a simple ploy to catch him unaware.

He gripped the axe tighter in his hands and finally she took a step backwards when she realized what would transpire in a mere few seconds then reached for something behind her. He watched her stop when she couldn't find whatever she was looking for and her mouth opened a few more times. He couldn't understand what she tried to tell him, it sounded like a garbled mess just like the other beasts but with one swift movement, he cut her open just like all the other beasts, her blood spraying out like a fountain.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

Her body fell through the gap in the fence landed on an overhang that was covering a stone that served as a temporary grave for another, normal-looking beast. He gave a tired sigh as he stared at the body of the female. The growing pool of blood beneath her was the same, dark shade as the beasts. The brooch on her chest meant nothing to him, it was just a decoration for distraction.

He made his way to the twitching body below on the stone and knew what had to be done. Just as he finished cutting the body to pieces, he could sense something—or _someone_ —enter the grave from behind. He figured it was another beast, another creature trying to make its way through to the cathedral. He took a moment to finish cutting the arm and head off of this beast, wondering for a moment why he was still here. Maybe he could finish killing this new beast and head up to begin Hunting the other beasts past the cathedral.

He slowly stood to his full height as he caught his breath, uttering softly to himself, "Beasts all over the shop." He finally turned slowly to the young beast that dressed in a young Hunter's garb. No, this wasn't another little beastie. This was another Hunter, looking for beasts himself to slaughter. Was it Henryk? Surely he would recognize that he had been infected just the same as these fallen creatures and had come to kill him just like all the other beasts. Despite that, he knew that he would be infected by the plague just as he had. "You'll be one of them, sooner or later."

He didn't recognize his clothing, and he figured out this Hunter was _not_ Henryk as he took his own axe into his hands, extending it as far as it possibly could go. Father Gascoigne could see his dark eyes, already tainted by the bloodshed but the held a strange look he didn't recognize. Could it be possible that this Hunter sympathized with him? Did he hold the same bloodlust as he did? He let out an irritated, guttural noise that rumbled deep in his chest as he took up his blunderbuss and axe to purge the world of this soon-to-be beast.

He wasn't sure how long they fought for—but he knew both of them had sustained injuries both major and minor. It was a pleasant scent, one that made him smile all over again. "Ooh, what's that smell?" He took a deep breath to determine what exactly it was he could smell. The intoxicating scent of blood filled his nose and he told the Hunter directly as he extended his own axe, "The sweet blood, ooh—it sings to me!" He slammed the axe into the Hunter's back, sending him flying into a tree. He was honestly surprised to see him still alive. "It's enough to make a man sick."

The Hunter rolled to avoid another attack and pulled out a strange little box, and after he turned the tiny lever and a tune began to play, Gascoigne stumbled back a few steps. It wasn't normal—what was this strange pain? It felt like he was being stabbed in the head with a dull knife and a strange vision clouded his sight.

A pale hand opened, silver ribbons slipping through its fingers. It was long enough to cause a few seconds of distraction and that was all it took for the Hunter to slash his stomach open with his axe. Had he heard the song before? No, it was impossible! He gritted his teeth together in anger and roared, forcing the Hunter back.

He shouted again as he body shifted, his muscles screaming in protest when they grew, his bones snapping when they elongated themselves. He turned into one of the beasts he Hunted and in his blind fury and pain, he leaped towards the Hunter and screamed, "Die! _Die!"_ This Hunter just needed to die! He was causing him pain with one tiny, little music box. He would go far as to call it torture.

That strange tune played again and that same pain caused him to fumble an attack and he put a clawed hand to his head. How could this Hunter, an inexperienced one at that, have such a power over him? A flash of a woman's face invaded his sight, blond and smiling. What caught his eye was a small, red gem pinned to her shirt and he wished he could stare more but just as fast as it had come, the vision of the woman faded away. Did he know her? That little beast he'd killed?

When he came to his senses again, a searing pain erupted from his chest and he realized all too late that this Hunter had his axe deep into his fur, crushing ribs and puncturing his lungs. His own body was covered with the beautiful shade of red, the same shade as all the other beasts. He was surprised, mostly, but he figured he, too, needed to be put down. He just thought it would have been Henryk to do the job.

Remembering the vision he had when the Hunter had played the melody, he turned his eyes up towards the body of the female beast he had killed earlier. The little red brooch remained pinned to her chest, and slowly he began to recognize it. Surely, she wasn't—

No, it was not a beast. She was the opposite of a simple-minded beast. She was his precious wife, his Viola and that was the brooch he had given her for her birthday years ago, the one she wore every day of the year. He remembered their two daughters, he remembered their joy and how she would always pull him back to his senses with the little music box that this Hunter now held. Every night she would play it, returning him to his senses.

His eyes widened and he fell to the ground. She knew how to purge the bloodlust, the madness from him and he cut her down, believing her to be a beast! Absurd! He screamed in pure agony as the axe in his chest removed itself from his limp body, allowing his own blood to gush out of the deep and fatal wound, staining the mud and grass red.

What had he done?

_Viola!_

Her body remained there, her arm barely hanging off the ledge in a mocking limpness as he tried to move to get closer to her and he roared in anguish, a feeling he'd never felt before. It tore him to pieces, more than all the beasts he'd ever cut down. He felt like he was being shredded by an unforgiving force and he screamed as loud as he could.

Through his screams, he wasn't sure if the Hunter who killed him could understand a garbled, pain-filled, _"Forgive me!"_

Then his hand fell to the ground and he knew no more.

The jeweled brooch pinned to Viola's chest loosened and fell into the pool of blood beside her, staring at the body of Father Gascoigne as if to answer his final words.


End file.
